June 22nd, 2022 08:59am pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.


 read ( words)

"'None of us will ever be the person we were. We can only be what we will become.'

What the fuck am I becoming? As usual, I can't fucking say.

So much I cannot say, and for so many reasons. I’ve been masking my thoughts here for so long that when I go back and seek certain terms or sections, I end up confused much of the time. I can’t simply spell shit out here or I’ll be labeled, or worse. Social commentary is one thing, but as related to the obsession or this newest of developments, all I can do is continue circling the issues without specifics. Everything upsets me, hence the title. I don’t know which way to turn.

0908, same Sunday morning. Sunshine and coffee, cats asleep, fourth show again. I like my surrogate family in the background. They provide comfort of a type unequaled in my history. Today will be the usual business and then whatever else seems best. After becoming so disillusioned over the experience of languishing in the empire last night, I seem to have one less item driving me forward. I am not angry about it, just less comfortable than the previous event. My fourth of July this year will be much less overstated than in the past. I go out there and feel the power of what I’ve created, yet inside I am still very small. Nothing can change me. The best course now may be to embrace the comfort of the evenings and leave the ideas for garage gatherings or expansion behind. The atmosphere is just not cutting the mustard anymore. In addition, those times often hold difficulties I can neither discuss at the time nor here. Last night may actually be the first step toward the end of an era spanning years. So sad. I can’t bullshit my way into honestly enjoying the garage as much as I used to. The truth is best. I’ll have to find other ways of finding satisfaction. Today could be very good if I stick to a plan and leave out the idea of spending time in the color once the sun sets.

The thoughts in my head are becoming bad enough to warrant a change in my behavior toward other people. I can’t deny how I feel. The good part is my leaving the bar scene behind a few months ago and not looking back. Going out for a while does make returning home feel really good, although the trips may no longer offset the inherent damage in spending time in public. The thoughts never leave, meaning the less time I spend outside this house, the better off I may be. I’ve already been beckoned to the bar by an acquaintance on social media, which I quickly shut down in a very rude manner. That individual will not likely request my presence again. Very good. Sometimes a hammer is all that is required.

Curious, the four issues took a far-back seat to another problem, and one which cannot be discussed, naturally. Some months ago I would not have imagined such a turn. Those four were the focus for so long – nearly the beginning of the pandemic isolation – that to believe they could be usurped by anything was a stretch. My current thinking is that at least two have been diminished greatly. That belief is accompanied by the idea that all four generally caused less heartache than I had originally felt and more anger. They are now nothing more than stones to be avoided on a path, lest the pair of ears choosing to listen be shut down in a very harsh manner. I can squash people with words. The four issues are also just words, really, but it took something very disturbing for me to put the four in perspective. For the tenth time, I could not have imagined feeling this way after so many years of exploration. Perhaps too many related events in a very short period of time finally illuminated a compulsion I had suppressed for years. I can’t be certain. Whatever the case, the damaging dream is here to stay, and I cannot stop thinking about it. Did you notice I have not mentioned the rollercoaster girl for some time? That should be a clear indication that I am fucked up in a very different way than in the past. I sure hope I don’t have to change the fucking title again. What a maroon.

The routine should start shortly. And then a cocktail while cleaning the kitchen. And then something to eat. I feel bad nearly all of the time. Those little chores help and must continue to do so or I’ll fall off a cliff.

Every time I use this application to record my thoughts, that same paragraph is just below. It is haunting me. I never should have spoken on the subject. That is a mistake of which I am reminded whether or not I find myself typing here. Perpetual.

1445. Everything is finished other than moving the cans to the curb. I don't like to roll them out there too early just in case there is more to be tossed. I also went into the back and began chopping the big shrub. Now there is a hole on one side. Heh. The inner part is going to be a pain, though. And considering I can only toss so much each week, this one is going to take months. Oh, well. I have the time, plus it is in the back so passers by will not see the partial progress. Once the green can is full, I have to stop.

We went to the hardware store for a father's day gift. Just a quick trip and back home. Right now I decided to take a break and get off my feet for a while. Lots of running around the house on Sundays. Fourth show up there for posterity. Ice water in the Yeti. I know better than to hit the beer when the weather is warm and I'm working. Not good.

0657 on Monday morning. Two weeks from the holiday in which this part of town seems to blow up completely. Heh. Coffee, cats fed, flags out, fourth show...

Last night was radically different than the previous. I felt much better relaxing inside and watching a movie. There is not much media I can watch without issues, but that movie definitely hit the mark of distraction. No worries whatsoever. All my other shows are suspect at one point or another, though. The evening went by without a problem and I was able to get into the story and allow my world of concern to fall away for a time. None of my shit returned until a few moments ago when I sat here with the coffee. The pattern of my mornings is likely at fault. This is the part of any day when I have the most quiet and space to think. Everything comes along at one point or another. I can’t really do anything about it right now. The night may have been an improvement, but I also know that any enjoyment is very temporary. All shall return.

Snubbed. The girl. I was shut down after asking. I saw her, too. I really did. Right over there...

Shut down. I just wanted to see everything. I would have tried my best not to make contact. No guarantees, though. I said ‘tried’. She was right over there...

I am going to need something else today. What that may be is a mystery right now, however. I can think straight during most mornings, but today I am preoccupied by a recent sight. It is pushing productive thoughts out of my head with much force. I may be powerless to resist continually allowing her to derail whatever I attempt to do. As of yet, I do not have a plan for circumventing her power over me. The only idea so far is to live through my days as I have been, enjoying whatever I can, while I can. The fact is I am tiny and she is overpowering. I am weak... Weaker than ever in my life, and while I had her right here for a while, everything eventually goes away from me, most notably those dire ideas and feelings as they relate to the girl. This may not make any fucking sense. Alas, my life doesn't make sense. I have to try moving a tad beyond where I have been, both inside the house and the garage, perhaps beginning with a tiny step in order to alter the trajectory just enough to see that I still can. Maybe that is the only way. I can’t be certain until the day comes to a close and I look back. I will probably be disappointed either way. I have no confidence.



I placed the same model here as from a year ago simply because what I see is going to kill me, sure as hell. Might as well make a fucking point of it. Two associations here; one was at the pool and the other was just over the hill from where I am sitting right now. All I did was ask, but I had no idea of what I was about to see. So, here is the model with similar proportions, and in full color. You may see a provocative pose and lots of exposed skin. I see something else entirely. I see my death. I also see wishes as they relate to the damaging dream, and that may be the most difficult and telling association ever.

I can’t seem to push myself across a certain line during the day. Either I am actually becoming weaker, or the amount of caring is diminishing. Recently I wrote a short description of a situation from the past and nearly drove myself insane. Like those diaries of trips in the past, it was quite detailed and one could see through words and form mental imagery. Things like that tend to hover just outside whatever I am attempting to do during the early and later afternoon. I can’t concentrate and find myself losing interest, just as a person suffering from depression suddenly realizes that what may be right there in front of them has become void of necessity. No ambition, nor much drive to finish anything that may have been started. The dreams are interfering with every part of my days. The evening and dinner preparations do help because I am at least a little busy and need to pay attention to the cooking, but right beneath the surface are those thoughts related to dreams along with the one huge shit situation I cannot seem to shake. The writing inflamed everything and left me sitting here feeling as if my world is all done; I’ve been to wonderful places and they have since all disappeared. Ugh.

I don’t understand why some things must be so involved, so complicated. Oh, sure, there are going to be thoughts, feelings and discussion, yet sometimes the very relational analysis that is attached to a situation also tends to destroy what could have been, and believe me when I say it is more important than anything in the world. Still, it was made to be complicated. I do not see things as such, and that mindset was reinforced by Ashley. That was nearly eighteen years ago and I had been behaving like a flighty fucking idiot, but in her arms everything melted away and she spoke softly of the way of the world. Or as one of my favorite fictional races might say, ‘It is the way of things’, meaning... Unchangeable and correct. To Ashley, the idea was simple and carried far too much stigma within a backward society which had been destroying itself as a result of the very rules people laid down in order to be happy in the first place. They expanded everything, whereas Ashley removed all of the detritus added throughout eons of development and saw the connections as they were in the beginning, sans bullshit. Simplicity. Now? I must admit that her viewpoint helped to reinforce the way I think. It really did because I couldn’t resist her truths. I felt similarly, yet I hesitated to relay my feelings to her until I understood that she did not easily shy away from a difficult discussion. The next thing I knew, she railroaded me and told me of her views, after which mine became even more steadfast. Since that time, everything has been overblown, overanalyzed, and desensitized. But not inside my head. People made some things complicated rather than seeing the simplicity and relaxing about the subjects. Now the whole world is fucked up and I may never find it again. I should not have touched upon such a topic in my diary. Not a good idea. Now my head is full of three fucking problems, one of which is pictured all down the page and telling me that Ashley was correct. Marvelous.

0817 and I still have some coffee left.
0838 and I am losing my mind.

People made it complicated. They reduced everything to trivial and/or casual, and then applied their own insecurities to the situation in order to raise themselves at the expense of others. Society has ruined all of the beauty and wonder in the world, and to add the complexity which came out of left field, I am now bereft of hope that some ideas from many years ago can still hold tight to the future. I need them to come to pass, yet there is no avenue remaining. Ashley and her unique way of thinking shall never return. I just don't fucking understand why some aspects of life must be so difficult. I am lost.

Masks. Beyond miserable right now.

All this fucking thinking. I have a better chance of saving enough money to buy the Passion. Keep in mind there were only thirty produced and all were sold at just over a million dollars each before the first example was even built. Same likelihood of me finding what I need.

0930. Some coffee left. I am miserable right now. I just don’t understand why some seemingly simple aspects of life must be so difficult and elusive. Decades. And now the newest facet of my personality, the damaging fucking dream getting in the way of everything. Dreams, wishes, happiness... Destiny? Fate? Karma? All those fucking terms are in a big pile somewhere else in the world and I am sitting here, tiny and weak, void of all of them. I don’t even know what any of them mean anymore. The routine and my shows. Coffee during quiet mornings. Some food here and there. My stupid little projects that are meaningless. This is a very bad road. I just don’t get it. Call me whatever you will, I don’t fucking care. Time and circumstance. Nothing more.

I guess I’ll close this off and do the routine. Throw some stuff away. Clean something. I am becoming very angry right now. Probably best to avoid typing further. Moreover, the voice from my shoulder is getting louder.

Here I sit at 1120 with the entirety of the day open to whatever I wish to accomplish (or not). I will have the next few hours to myself, like the typical Sunday, although this is Monday and the schedule was changed due to a new holiday I do not understand. Well, whatever. My schedule is my own and has little to do with holidays. The last hour or so has been spent preparing the kitchen and organizing a few areas to prepare myself for the free time. I have yet to clean the kitchen, however. Perhaps I will wait until after lunch. The lack of dinner last night means there is not much to do in the kitchen, anyway. Yesterday I made some pasta sauce during the afternoon and then cooled it for the refrigerator. We may have it tonight or tomorrow. I am unsure. Lunch is also up in the air. Maybe pizza because it brings me temporary comfort while so much is churning inside my head. Right now I don’t feel like doing anything due to my brain being blown wide-open by a story I’ve been crafting. It will never be published, though. Never. I cannot place such personal information here or there will be flak. There are currently two facets to my lack of understanding. One has already been outlined, and the other is the damaging dream and those ideas generated as a result. I have realized that this exposition will become more and more ambiguous over time. There is no choice anymore. My head is worsening as quickly as my outlook on life. To use the Navy vernacular during airborne combat over water, ‘splash’ one glass of whiskey. I am on my way to... Something.

Still no recent mention of the rollercoaster girl, a symbol I sought for a decade. How the priorities have changed for the worse. EVERYTHING IS SHIT RIGHT NOW AND THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT. I don’t even know how I lived this long.

I ordered a cat tree for the dining room. Very exciting. I guess I’ll clean the kitchen.

1323. Kitchen finished. Dry cleaning finished. Cocktail finished. Now I don't know what to do with my time. The preparation of pasta sauce yesterday means dinner will be very simple. I only need add fresh herbs at the end. Gangsters on the television.



This is a very bad situation. It would be dangerous in two ways if I was in a better position in life, but alas I have nothing. Dangerous in only one way, thus my mood continues to decline. The writing accomplishes nothing aside from whatever type of ‘outlet’ one may consider, however I do not entirely agree. The girl came about due to so much writing combined with the fine points of my lifestyle, both past and present. The past jaded me in the extreme, and the present has demonstrated that without obvious avenues of advancement, my condition cannot improve. I have not clue one as to what may take place in the future. Anger does not help anything. I know this. I am angry nonetheless. The mood is here to stay. I need to throw some crap into the trash. For whatever reason, such action helps a little. The time is 1457 and I am all but out of gas. I have some laundry going only because I don’t have any pants to wear and I actually showered. A rarity, for sure. Something has to happen, but as I look out the windows toward the rest of the world, I see absolutely nothing. All things are possible, my ass. Fuck you. Show me the road. The only saving grace is that WHEN I flip the fuck out, no one else will be affected. I can’t have that. Wait for it.

The remainder of today is going to add up to exactly shit. I just don’t give a blue fuck in the wind anymore. I only complete tasks to keep life going, not improve it. I don’t have it in me to advance anything. I did not do this to myself, nor did the girl.

The race is in six weeks. I am going to employ the big camera rather than watching all the cars race from the grandstand. Years ago I followed the points all the way through each season, paying particular attention to my favorite drivers and teams. The last few outings have seen my interest in the competition decline quite a bit, so the camera will come to the rescue. I shoot abstract images almost exclusively, and there are lots of details in the pits to be captured. There may also be a FUCKING GODDESS BEYOND COMPREHENSION in one of the vendor exhibits. I fully intend to ask permission to capture her beauty. I need to see her. If that girl is not there, the day will go on as planned. If she is there again, I may actually smile for a minute. And then I’ll come home and fall on my fucking face again, just like last time. The main idea of strolling around and being in the lens came about not long ago, and the idea seems even more enticing now.

After the race, there will be a month and a half until regular season football. I have yet to decide whether or not to watch solely at home. I just don’t know what the best plan will be. I will say right now that the holiday season beginning shortly after football is appearing better and better as these long days go by. It may sound odd that I actually look forward to something in life, but I must admit the truth. I will also admit that a good portion of said excitement is due to my gaining a nearly complete set of the magic ornaments from the glow and shortly thereafter. I am dying to get them all set up and lit, meaning one of these days I have to fabricate a light string specifically to supply the correct number of ornaments with proper voltage. The newer LED strings are flippant. Fortunately, I have the knowledge and expertise to light them in any manner which will accentuate the tree. I need not rely on instructions or legacy strings designed for older models. I can make everything myself, and with material already in the garage. One point of which I am unsure is whether or not I’ll need a specific AC transformer. That would require a trip to a store I’ve been dying to visit for a couple of years. All good, that stuff, and I love being able to build whatever I need.

Everything in the previous paragraph means distraction from the hellish sea within which my head is drowning, save for the race girl. All those holidays and different events add up to the ability for me to draw breath during the periods between. There is a saying from the past, ‘life is what happens between the big events’, and I cannot disagree. Unfortunately, those in-between stretches of time reinforce my being so fucking unhappy. Well, the race girl is part of a symptom. I can't lie about that one. I've dreamed about being near such beauty, not to mention the rest (I can't say). Dreaming is seldom good anymore.

I may change the title again. So far, this entry is nothing more than an extension of several others, and once again the title has been lost. And there is Jamie looking like everything beautiful in the world all rolled into a single face. Damn it all, anyway. At least I can see her. Fuck the title.

Carmela... Admiring the wallpaper guy. Oh, god does that dredge up more shit than I can put into words. He’s great, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that some very bad memories are attached to the action, none of which I wish to repeat. The scene is of critical importance, and the last thing I would do is skip an uncomfortable section of the arc just because I have all kinds of problems. The creators of this show – and by extension the actors – have nothing to do with me. They have actually enhanced my existence in more ways than I can count. Appreciation is key, not disdain. The scene comes and goes and I know it well, and I know why it is there. My experiences in the past are very difficult to consider right now.

Laundry is almost finished. I’ll get out there and fold soon. Also, a guy from up the street approached my garage to inquire about stereo equipment and if I might have experience working on the insides of electronic components. Very nice guy. He may return at a later time to discuss audio and design.

0652 on Tuesday. The coffee is very tasty this morning. Maybe the reason is because I remember a dream from earlier involving a woman I actually ‘knew’ from another dream somewhere back in the past. Yes, in the dream we had been acquainted, and I remembered her from a similar location and the same type of living situation. Early in the dream from this morning, I was in a large house trying to organize some blueprints. Specifically, I was in a huge bathroom that resembled a business-type of bathroom for a large building. The place was a mess and everything had been wet for some reason, making the paperwork difficult to rework. I did not understand. People were coming and going the entire time as if the home was still under construction. That went on for a while before I found myself next door at some sort of gathering, perhaps a small party. I knew the others present in that house. At some point, I spied a tall woman strolling with purpose. I felt that I knew her and was completely compelled to see and speak with her again. I left the party and made a beeline for wherever she had been walking.

And then I recalled that the house we had been working within had a space ‘between’ floors that was large enough for a family. The woman was headed for that space, accessible only by a ladder and shortened door. Very odd.

I caught up to her as she was about to climb into the small space. She remembered me, smiled and hugged me tightly. For whatever reason, the woman in the dream reminds me of several others all rolled into one. Oksana from the show yesterday because within the particular episode she is stunning. Tall, slender, gorgeous. Long, flowing black hair. The second is a model whose name escapes me right now (also from one of the former Union states), and the third lives up the street a few houses away. I don’t see her very often anymore, but toward the beginning of the pandemic, she walked often each week. Well, the combination of all three is not completely accurate because her face was that of the model. Let’s say I just had a feeling. Anyway, the woman was very happy to see me and full of affection. I recalled knowing her for years, yet the feeling was that we had been out of touch for quite some time because she had children. There was a familiarity there, too. Something like mutual attraction and appreciation. But she was in a relationship with someone else and I felt very disappointed, as if there had been a chance for us but it faded over time. Being that close forced me to see her beauty up close and I was floored. Her face was amazing. At that point, and after we hugged several times along with a few kisses, everything began to fade as she climbed the ladder into her home. That is all I remember at this hour.

0800 straight up. Morning business finished.



Title change. Again.

This is one of those mornings when everything seems to be rolled into one big ball, and that ball is trying to roll over me. I wish there could be a way out of this. I’ve written descriptive essays in the past and all they accomplished was to cause me to fall down over and over. I’m still doing it, though. Perhaps the compulsion to feel the past takes over sometimes and the only way to deal with it is exploration of events which took place many years ago, and during those times when I thought I was happy. I am unsure. The bottom line is that this happens too fucking often for me to concentrate upon anything for very much time before becoming completely distracted or derailed. That same condition is taking place right now and I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I need to begin the routine a little early and then get out the door for a while. Shopping is necessary, whereas this shit is not. I just keep typing for some reason. There is so much I could say, yet I cannot. Too afraid.

I have to go to three stores today. The hardware for having a key made, then the pharmacy for some boot polish, and finally the market for a bit of produce. I may browse the hardware store for a while to generate ideas for the garage. I want to go to the electronics store down the peninsula at some point, but the best course is probably to perform research on the lighted ornaments before shopping for a transformer. I could run everything off the Variac, but that would mean wiring Christmas lights from the garage and then routing the wiring into the living room. That seems rather tedious and stupid, however. I’ll have to set up all my stuff and find the best voltage, afterward heading out for supplies. Part of me is itching to see that place, honestly. Ever since the three main electronics retailers went away, I’ve missed that kind of shopping. They used to be a destination which brought me near some of my favorite restaurants. A trip within a trip, so to speak. In any case, I’ll work on some stuff and then head out the door to take care of business. Right now I need to sit here and think about everything before making a move in any direction.

Damn... The memories are slicing me to ribbons. I no longer have anything of the sort. Bereft is the word. I wish I could understand this.

1154. I went to all three stores but only scored at two. I was told shoe polish is not carried by most retailers. I guess the shoe stores are the only places carrying polish anymore. I’ll have to pick one and take a trip later. Nothing to see while shopping today, thank the maker. I really don’t need any more shit on top of the pile. I am already pretty fucking far off my rocker.

Gangsters, bless them.

I have some laundry going and nothing planned afterward. Once the dryer is finished, I may venture back out and find the polish. Eh... Never mind. I ordered a tin of black polish. Doing so is likely less expensive than driving my car over the hill. Gas is very expensive right now. I’d love to check out that store, though. The gas may be worth a stretch down the highway, plus the trip would effectively divide my day. Sometimes too much free time with a fucked up head can be very bad. I sit here and fucking THINK all the time, and that shit leads me to be even more depressed. I don’t want to drag out all the test equipment in this warm weather just to determine the possible size of a transformer. I’d rather not make a mess out there. The television can keep me company, yet still I don’t feel the motivation. Driving south with some cool air and music sounds much better, plus I can peruse the place and finally see their inventory. Right now I just don’t know. My head is still in places better left unmentioned. Warm, dark places I dream of daily. And I need not worry about seeing all sorts of strikes and forms in that type of store. Heh.

1246. Damn, Oksana is so tall. She needs to untie her hair, though. Flowing black everywhere...

Joseph Siravo was so fucking awesome. I love him.

Then again, maybe I’ll sit here and wallow. If the temperature goes too high I can always turn on the fan (from my phone).

I just don’t get it. So difficult. I tried for so long; many years. And then there was an encounter that rammed nails into my head while placing a smile on my face. And then nothing but shit. I just don’t fucking understand why things had to play out the way they did. This is hurting me deeply and has truncated my entire life to the point of my feeling like a tiny speck in a world of giants. I may never understand. It hurts, and there is nothing I can do about it. More failures, more drinking, less ambition, and days burned away for all time. Thinking, thinking, and more thinking. What’s the fucking point? Are the little enjoyments the only aspects of life keeping me out of the ground? Fuck off. You don’t know. I don’t understand why things are the way they are; why they must o be this way. No one can explain this to me. The fucking line was tough. Well, now everything is tougher. Another topic gone to shit.

I keep going through the motions, awaiting either evening or morning, and then sit here and describe my days, all the while the dreams remain far out of reach. Very far. And the dreams have expanded beyond comprehension since the one filled with damage and causing more deviant thoughts than I would have ever considered possible for someone like me. I know part of what has driven me to this, believe it or not. Only part, but that part is very disturbing and has left me without any hope whatsoever.

The racial slurs within this show never cease to raise my eyebrows. I cannot consider others in such a light because I am just a person, and they are the same. Just people. I guess the differences create fear and then drive the weak to attempt to raise themselves. I’ve said that before. Sometimes I make comments about my own background and we laugh. But toward someone I don’t know? Forget it. Unfair. Anyway...

There is that paragraph again. I feel so fucking weak now due to sharing the realization and associated emotions with another human being. I did it, and the information is out there. I can’t get it back, nor can I predict with any certainty where it may flow in the future. Trusting people is pretty damned low on my list these days, and the intimate nature of what we discussed is tearing me up inside. I don’t fucking trust anyone. Not anymore. That is a journey of which I am incapable. Unfortunately, the paragraph must remain until such time as I can reconcile myself with what I wrote. It may never happen, but I have to leave it there just in case. Forgetting or otherwise disregarding my own wisdom could be far worse.

Everything is related. The four issues, the paragraph below, trusting people, the fucking gorgeous and stirring forms in the world, and all those pieces of me that are missing.

1345. I don’t know what to do. Edie has huge eyes sometimes.



0652 on Wednesday morning. Ho-ly fuck did the weather heat up yesterday. So much so that nothing seemed appealing, not even sitting in my garage. The house was still upwards of eighty-plus when I went to bed. Jesus, sometimes there is no warning for a hot day. It just hits. I'm glad I did the laundry and shopping early. Had I waited until after lunch, nothing would have been done.

And now I am supposed to outline what will be done today, or at least whatever seems to look good. The coffee and fourth show look best right now. Heh. The cats are fed and flags are flying. As for the rest of the day, the weather will probably dictate. There is nothing very heavy which needs to be accomplished. I guess I’ll just wait and see how the temperature shapes up later before making any plans. So far, the air outside is cool, yet there is an underlying tinge which tells me that by noon the mercury could rise beyond comfort.


I don’t understand why this is so difficult. The subject cannot be spelled out, either. The problem is everything has become personal and deeply hurtful, leaving me void of any avenues to help. I will probably continue to sit here and type the same thoughts – hopefully sometimes using different words, at least – and nothing will change, ever. I just don’t see another way to live my days. This has been the norm for so long that the familiarity of everything brings me a small measure of morning comfort and then I wish to do it again and again, leaving few options for altering the short period in which I sip coffee. The keyboard goes right along with everything else. Fourth show (sometimes a different one) and feeding the cats. Flying the flags. All of it adds up to habits that I seem to need pretty badly. Once everything is finished, I will sit here and type, even during those moments when there is nothing to say, or all I do is repeat myself. The reason for all of this is that I do not fucking understand the compulsion or void. I have to speak, somehow, and the keyboard has become the only listener. I sit here and type. And then I feel completely empty and void of hope that any happiness is either completely impossible or so far out of reach that it has become unattainable. Void, void, void... Voidercakes. I am going to continue to say the same things until something happens. If nothing changes, I may need to force or leverage my way into a more comfortable position.

I also keep seeing that paragraph that lives within the Documents application. It floats right below this work due to the structure of this particular document. The paragraph is always there, I read parts of it almost daily, and sometimes I believe that the realization within that thought is going to worsen more and more as I grow older, at some point finally becoming too much to take. This is not a good situation. Part of the genesis is known while the rest is a mystery. I will say that I was driven to write that paragraph due to being treated coldly and unfairly in the past. There is nothing I can do about those situations now, however. The past is unchangeable. The rest? I don’t know. I am confused. Anything more recent is tough to reconcile these days. Very tough. I am left in a seemingly impossible conundrum while growing weaker and more desperate with each passing day. I know that most of my time is very quiet and peaceful, allowing me to relax and think clearly when necessary. Each day is cumulative, though. The feelings are like layers continuing to pile atop each other. I also know that at some point in the future, be it next week or five years from now, I am going to lose the ability to go forward. My own needs have been... Ugh. I won’t say it right now. The bottom line is that this is going to end at some point. The future is tapered. Maybe I will find the strength to remove that paragraph, and maybe I will not.

0734 and I believe the air hit its coolest point just prior to sunrise. That is typical. Hopefully, this will not become a trend for the week. I moved near the ocean for cooler weather and some fog.

Imagery in my head. The model here is lying back just like that one by the pool. I sought more images of the same poses because that seemed to be the focus during the period in which we took that week in Paradise. I don’t know why, but perhaps it was simply a phase. In any case, she illustrates very specific interests ideally suited to an entry with nothing of the sort. This is all over the place. And I am continually at a loss as to how to proceed in life, let alone down the page. The entire situation has me at sixes and sevens all over again, and sans direction. My thinking wavers back and forth like a fucking drunk in a crosswalk. I don't know what to do... For the millionth time.

I don’t see anything changing in the short term. I remain inside this house and the chance that something like a solution or any help actually coming to my door is ludicrous. If I remain where I have for the past two years, nothing can change. The only option is to seek anything, no matter how small or trivial, which can cause either a rise or some sort of relief from this everyday condition. Unfortunately, that option seems about as likely as the first because my issues have grown to the point of forcing me to understand that to offset them would require something which does not exist. At least, not in the way I need. So, sitting here may be the only path. I’ll probably eventually drive myself mad, and I am not employing a euphemism. I mean actually insane. We shall see what the next few months have in store.

0800 on the nose. Fourth show is still up there and I have some coffee left. I am not feeling as much anger as yesterday, although my mellow state this morning may be due in part to the heat having completely kicked my ass yesterday and now I need rest. Whatever it is, I don’t see as much anger right now. Perhaps later it will flare. I’ll need today to be a bit productive, too. Anger sometimes drives me to do more work, but if the heat carries on today I may not be able to finish much of anything. Just being a little productive would be fine. Everything is rolling through my head like Satan’s own freight train, loaded with problems. Everything at the same time, from fulfillment to apathy, and from happiness to suicide. All at once. The next few hours will require breathing and thinking. I’m going to take it easy until learning of the weather pattern. The images and motion pictures playing in my head like movies are going to need to be shoved away for a time. I can’t let them take over and cause me to falter. Not right now.

Every entry is beginning to look the same, title or no title. Maybe I should just name them as a series of ‘untitleds.’ This entry, for example, is the third that was to carry a certain title, and the third iteration of the same shit. The title in question is still not in use. I suppose the anger has not built on itself enough as of yet. 0839. Imagery in my head... Ideas, past situations, that fucking thing that has happened on a few occasions that I saw again and imploded as a result, and then the fucking girl that will not let up. She doesn’t (can’t) exist at all. No way. At this point in life and after all these years, I may have already caught my limit of good things happening. I guess there were too many in a short period of time and I used up all my chances, but I can’t be sure. That type of idea is gleaning something larger than myself and I am ill-equipped to analyze beyond the surface. Splendid. I have to get away from these subjects.

Yesterday I decided to break out one lighted ornament and perform some tests. Within minutes, my workbench was littered with the Variac, multimeter, a plethora of hand tools, wiring and other items. I worked out a plan to test the working voltage of each ornament to learn if they are all the same. If so, I’ll fabricate the string from scratch. If they operate on different voltages, I’ll have to create more than one string and divide the voltage as necessary. I really don’t want to employ a transformer unless it is unavoidable. In any case, I suppose working on this stuff now rather than in the fall is a good thing. There is plenty of time to get the ornaments working properly and ready to hang on the tree come fall.

And that is not enough to keep my thoughts productive this morning. The problems continue to creep in no matter how much distraction I can drive. I keep thinking of that empty space left behind after years of running toward comfort and then finding myself completely empty. The paragraph regarding a realization is likely the worst circumstance imaginable right now, and still I have no fucking idea of how it can be either alleviated or confirmed. There is no help available. Imagery of the past rolls through my head and causes me to lose my way every fucking day.

I am running out of both reasons and time.

The 'girl'."